


Boneyard Ballad

by ImJaebabie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Character Death, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Theme day: Ghosts, but like...ghosts...can't be alive to be a ghost yknow, grave digger jaehyun, graveyard, some good old-fashioned grave-digging, sorry for the mcd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 13:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJaebabie/pseuds/ImJaebabie
Summary: Everyone has their role in Oak Hill. Jaehyun digs the graves—and does a good job of it.





	Boneyard Ballad

**Author's Note:**

> hello pals...you may have noticed the MCD warning & related tags...i just want to let you know, this story has ghosts. ghosts require dead people. some is pre-action of the fic, some is during, etc...i don't want to spoil things, but i want you to be aware. i don't think any of it is too overwhelming personally, but that's me. 
> 
> while i wouldn't ever take the topic lightly, please read w the knowledge that this is all meant in good halloween fun!
> 
> i hope you enjoy. :))

_ “It will be so easy…” _

The man shivers as the words crawl across his skin, cold whispers on a night dark as death. 

_ — _

“Truly, I don’t know how you do it, Jaehyun,” Taeil says, the disbelief evident in his eyes. “Don’t you find it frightening, out here by yourself?”

It’s a fair question, and perhaps he should be disconcerted, unsettled, afraid in some way...but Jaehyun shrugs and smiles, and the headstone at his back presses into his shoulder blade. 

“Oh, not really.”

“I’d be scared silly. Working for hours with nothing but graves around me?” Taeil shudders. “Nothing to like about that.”

“Taeil, you drive a hearse.”

“Well, yes, but that’s different.”

Jaehyun chuckles. He disagrees, in all honesty. He thinks there’s quite a lot to like about being a gravedigger. The hours may be odd, and the company nothing to write home about, but the pay is good and his work has a clear purpose. The dead need burying, and they need it done well—Jaehyun can do that. 

Taeil takes one more glance at the cluster of graves Jaehyun currently rests in and shakes his head. “Better you than me, anyway,” he says, and pulls the driver door of his hearse open wide before sliding into the seat. 

As he drives off down the winding road that cuts through and circumvents Jaehyun's workplace, Jaehyun lifts a hand to wave him off, holding the bag of pastries he left tightly in the other. Later, they will be just the snack the gravedigger needs to get through the late hours, when the moon hangs high above him and the owls call out gentle greetings to one another. 

After another moment, Jaehyun pushes up from his seat and stretches in the fading sunset light. He has a grave to dig by morning, and only about a foot and a half done. At least four and a half more will have to be dug up before he can call it a night. 

Jaehyun pats the headstone he’d been sitting against and reaches for his shovel. “I’ll drop by again soon, Yuta,” he says as he leaves the spot and climbs the hill back to his newest plot. “Thanks for the break.”

—

There’s a strong breeze blowing through the graveyard as Jaehyun digs. Although it’s cool, he relishes the chill that sweeps over his skin hot from the exertion. His jacket he cast off hours ago; draped over a headstone nearby, it flaps carelessly in the wind. 

Two more hefty shovels full of dirt come away easily from the ground, the pile at his side growing. 

The wind shifts. 

_ Come this way. _

Jaehyun bites the inside of his cheek and sinks the empty shovel in again. 

_ This way, over here. _

The wind is a tickle in his ear, clever and deceptive. Jaehyun tries not to listen. 

_ Gravedigger, hurry. Dig me up. I will reward you! _

It’s hard to ignore the whispers. It’s difficult to keep working and not heed their sweet calls, the gentle promises of what they’ll give him, if only he lets them out of their graves. He glances at the headstone where his jacket sits, reading the name in the light from the lamp that illuminates his worksite. 

_ Please, unbury me! I’ll reward... _

Jaehyun shakes his head and buries his shovel again in the dirt, in the new grave where he should. He won’t be raising the dead tonight. 

—

“Leave those boots outside, if you’re going to come in,” Sicheng chides, halting Jaehyun just outside the door of the mortuary. 

Jaehyun looks down at his work boots, noticeably clumped with mud, and a stark contrast to the pristine condition of Sicheng’s sensible shoes. 

He leaves them, and follows the mortician inside sock-footed. Sicheng bypasses the bland front lobby and office, heading directly for the preparation room. 

“To what do I owe the visit?” 

“Just a simple question,” Jaehyun replies, following him inside but keeping a respectful distance from the tall, solid table and the corpse on top of it, hidden below white linen and oh so very still. 

Sicheng rounds the table with perfect ease and opens his logbook, only barely glancing up at Jaehyun. “Yes?”

“Do you keep a record of all the preparations?”

There’s a subtle look of suspicion in Sicheng’s eyes when he pauses his work and looks at Jaehyun directly, crossing his thin arms over his stomach. 

“We do, in case the family of the deceased ever need to reference something. Why?”

Jaehyun folds his hands and smiles pleasantly. “May I look up a name? The record may be old, probably before we were born.”

“If you’re not family, I shouldn’t allow it.”

Jaehyun waits, calm. 

“I’m serious, there are rules! I wouldn’t even let Doyoung look up—Jaehyun, come on, don’t give me that look!”

Jaehyun’s pleasant smile only widens a little. 

Sicheng sighs. “Fine. Only since you work in the graveyard. Follow me.”

It takes a while to find the name Jaehyun wants, only because there are so many record books. Real ones, because it’s not like this town to digitize, and not like the Dong family to break tradition. They trace back nearly seventy years before Jaehyun’s finger lands on the right record. 

“Ah.”

“Who?” Sicheng balances on his toes to peer over Jaehyun’s shoulder at the name, the curiosity in his almond eyes one of the few betrayals of his young age, usually disguised behind his mature demeanor. 

Jaehyun taps the name. “Seo, John. Hmm, is this typical?”

“Which part?” Sicheng asks, looking where Jaehyun points. “Oh. Well, burying with a coin on the tongue isn’t too common. Not anymore, at least. But let’s see…ah. Looks like he died in some kind of botched surgery. Sometimes families buried their dead with bribes and such out of superstition.”

Jaehyun hears a thin, deep voice in his recent memory. It offers him a reward. It only wants one thing.

“Who are the bribes for?” Jaehyun asks.

Sicheng considers, twisting his lips. “Whoever passes them into the next life, I’d imagine. Like I said, superstition. Why?”

“Oh, no reason.”

If Jaehyun pulls up the grass, digs a small hole, and buries a handful of change in a certain grave the next night, no one is the wiser. 

“Rates might have gone up,” he mutters as he pats the ground level again. “You can’t come back this way, but maybe that will help you move forward.”

He doesn’t hear a voice from that grave again. 

—

Particularly long nights when Jaehyun has to dig more than one grave, or the wind howls too loud in his ears, or he hasn’t gotten enough sleep beforehand, always make his job a challenge. He’s grateful, though, that the citizens of Oak Hill have a habit of trying to make his work a little easier.

It’s one of these nights that has Jaehyun sitting up by the old oak tree, its arms hanging onto the last third of its autumn-picked leaves and stretching skeletal against the dark sky full of slow-crawling, thick clouds.

Jaehyun sighs and rolls his sore shoulders, then plucks the crinkled paper bag from the pocket of his jacket, another gift delivered by Taeil. He pulls out one of the sweet breads from inside, unable to help the smile on his lips at the prospect of the sugar melting on his tongue. He takes a big bite, feels the dough crumble and disintegrate inside his lips.

There’s nothing like a sugar pick-me-up to raise the spirits.

_ “What’s it taste like, Jaehyun?” _

“It’s almond-flavored.”

Sheer like the thinnest gauze, and even more ethereal, a blue-tinted hand brushes over Jaehyun’s snack, passing through it without touch. 

There’s a sigh by Jaehyun’s ear, and he turns a welcoming smile in that direction.

_ “I don’t remember that one anymore. I miss tasting things.” _

“I know. You’ll have to let go of that eventually, Jungwoo,” Jaehyun tries to console Jungwoo, but the ghost always acts utterly forlorn when faced with things he can no longer enjoy. 

There’s a heavy coldness at Jaehyun’s side when Jungwoo sits down, as best as he can considering his general state of existence. The look he gives Jaehyun as the gravedigger bites into the bread again reminds Jaehyun of a puppy begging for scraps at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry, I’d share if I could.”

_ “What if we tried killing the bread? Maybe ghost bread is real?” _

Jaehyun laughs, tries not to cough around his bite. “If you figure out how to kill bread, let me know. Be happy to try it.” 

—

Jungwoo is a lonely ghost, and Jaehyun knows this. Haunting a quiet town like theirs, and quarantined to the cemetery grounds, his post-life existence doesn’t come with much company or entertainment, save Jaehyun. 

So when Donghyuck appears one night, it’s fair to say Jungwoo is excited.

_ “Oh Jaehyun! Guess what happened?” _

Jaehyun drops his equipment on the grass, surveying this night’s site and listening absently. “Mm. What’s that?”

_ “Come see! Come see! Oh, just look at him!” _

Attention caught, Jaehyun leaves his shovel and follows Jungwoo through a few rows and past the old oak tree. Not far from there sits the grave he’d dug the night before. The ground is still somewhat fresh, still darker than the earth around it, and a myriad of flower bouquets litter the space around the headstone. 

There’s a ghost sitting on it, facing away from them.

_ “Donghyuck! How are you today?” _

Jaehyun smiles and opens his mouth to greet the new ghost, then stops short as the spectral figure turns their way.

Oh no. 

Unlike Jungwoo’s soft bluish eyes, Donghyuck’s eyes are dark, opaque blue. His hair floats around his head like it’s being held up underwater, and there is a sharp frown turning down his lips. He takes one look at Jaehyun and his eyebrows tilt in, his fingers curl.

Jaehyun has seen this before. Donghyuck is an _ angry _ghost. 

In a moment, Donghyuck’s dark, dead eyes are right in front of Jaehyun’s face.

_ “You put me here.” _ The accusation comes out in a hiss. 

“I did bury your body, yes.”

_ “Give it back to me!” _

Jaehyun steels himself. At his side, Jungwoo looks positively gleeful, hands clasped under his chin. 

“I can’t do that. Even if you got it back, you couldn’t get back inside it.” 

Donghyuck shrieks. It’s not a nice sound, and Jaehyun flinches. Gliding even closer, the ghost hovers nose-to-nose with Jaehyun, radiating cold anger.

_ “Give it back! It isn’t fair, I was healthy! He...he did it on purpose!” _Shrieking again, Donghyuck darts away, pushing his way through the old oak tree and a handful of headstones, dipping in and out of graves with his spine-chilling wails. Faint echoes of disturbed groans follow him like a wake, and Jaehyun knows there’s nothing worse for a graveyard than an angry ghost, unsettling the calm dead with his fervor. 

Jaehyun calls him back. “Donghyuck! What do you mean?”

The ghost pulls up short in front of them again, ignoring the smiling Jungwoo to glare at Jaehyun. _ “He did it to me! When she was gone, he took me out, saying we’d make friends, get to know each other better, if he was going to be my step-father...but he lied!” _

At that word, Donghyuck grows even darker, his phantom shape starting to roil and effervesce. If Jaehyun isn’t careful, this ghost might go too far past haunting and become a full-on poltergeist, and he has no interest in dealing with one of those. A ghost is one thing; a ghost that can _ move _ things is another. 

“How did he lie, Donghyuck?”

The ghost glowers, voice turning chasmic as the words slip from his vicious lips. _ “He didn’t want to get to know me. He wanted to get rid of me. And he did!” _

Jaehyun knows this story, vaguely. Taeil often tells him what kind of person he is burying, what had happened to them, since Jaehyun rarely was awake in the daytime when the town bustled with the news in real time. And while most graves he digs for typical circumstances—death of old age, illness, or accident—there had been some noise around this one. The young man, found in the ravine, dead under mysterious circumstances. His mother and stepfather-to-be, both heartbroken, devastated and floundering for answers. How did he end up there? Why? But with no answers. 

Well, perhaps there is an answer after all.

“Was it your stepfather, Donghyuck?” Jaehyun asks carefully. “What happened?”

_ “Oh that doesn’t matter,” _ Jungwoo cuts in, waving his arms between the two of them, his face suddenly concerned. _ “Can’t be fixed now! Dead is dead, right Jaehyun?” _

Donghyuck seethes. _ “Can’t you tell?” _ He turns, and Jaehyun sees the blood gash in his ghostly figure. He notices for the first time that Donghyuck is carrying a shirtsleeve in his hand, torn near the shoulder as if pulled from its seam. _ “The bastard pushed me! Tried to take him with me, but he wouldn’t go. I wish he’d gone! I hate him!” _

Jungwoo sighs. _ “How very dramatic. This isn’t fun anymore.” _

Ignoring him, Jaehyun tries a smile. “Don’t worry, Donghyuck,” he says, “I think maybe I can get a little peace for you, if you’d like that.” 

The ghost smiles bright with malice. _ “I want him dead.” _

—

These things aren’t really Jaehyun’s business, truthfully. The police should be responsible for solving mysterious crimes, for enacting justice.

But ghosts don’t complain to the police. They complain to Jaehyun. 

And Jaehyun? He complains to Kun. 

“Seems to me they could have missed something, don’t you think?”

Kun looks up from his schedule book for only a moment, his eyes a bit exasperated. “Jaehyun,” he says, “no one knows how it happened. It’s very tragic, but they’ve looked into everything.”

Jaehyun pokes at the stem of a chrysanthemum, the bouquet of them like a condensed sunset, a flash of color in the otherwise somber funeral home. The arrangements have looked much more tasteful ever since Renjun started helping out over at the florist’s. The bouquet looks especially stunning below the painting that hangs above it, one of Ten’s nature pieces, a depiction of the old oak tree that is appropriately sorrowful yet somehow comforting. It’s Kun’s personal favorite.

“It just seems off to me. Did…” Jaehyun pauses, trying to reason a way to get his information across without being too suspicious, “did the coroner find anything odd?”

Kun would know. There’s a confidence between him, Sicheng in the mortuary, and the coroner Minghao—the men in the business of post-death. 

“Not really. He was dressed normally, had all the things you’d expect a boy his age to be carrying. Phone, keys, etc. One of his hands was clenched pretty tight, but there was nothing in it save a few odd threads. He must have tried to grab something to stop himself falling when it happened. That’s what most people think.” 

“Is that what you think?”

Setting his black pen down, Kun breathes deeply. “I think…” he glances up, and Jaehyun understands—he’s speaking very carefully, “that everything wasn’t perfect with that boy’s family. Maybe...he wanted out of it…”

“What if it wasn’t him that wanted out, but someone else who didn’t want him there?”

Kun blinks at Jaehyun. “What would make you think that?”

A shrug. “Just a hunch. I get a weird feeling from that guy trying to marry his mom.”

“...well, hard to do anything with a hunch, Jaehyun.” 

—

It’s deep night when the police car sirens ring out in the Oak Hill, their lights like red and blue flares against the cloudless sky. They’re visible all the way up to the cemetery on the hill, where Jaehyun stands and watches the cars pull up to the house on the outskirts of town and put the man under arrest. 

_ “Let him rot, let him grind his teeth!” _

Donghyuck watches beside the gravedigger, sneering and flexing his ghostly fingers into claws as the policemen load the man into their car and take him away. He softens, though, growing still to see his mother stand on the porch crying, her posture tall but shaking. 

Jaehyun glances at Jungwoo, floating to their other side, looking blank and unamused. The ghost always hates when the drama nears its end.

_ “At least she’s safe from him now, too,” _ Donghyuck whispers. His glow has taken on a softer blue, the darkness in his eyes melting away and leaving them watery. _ “God. I’m so tired.” _

Jungwoo floats over in a second, grabbing Donghyuck’s arms. Ghost to ghost, there returns some material touch ability, and Jungwoo uses it to shake Donghyuck. 

_ “Donghyuck, please, don’t say such things! Oh don’t, I know you aren’t!” _

_ “But I am...I’m very tired.” _

“You don’t have to stay, Donghyuck. It’s taken care of, now. You can go on.”

_ “Or stay! Just stay and play with me! You don’t have to let go!” _

Donghyuck looks past Jungwoo to Jaehyun, his eyes utterly soft and shoulders drooped. He’s already thinning at the edges, going blurry. By morning, Jaehyun knows he’ll be gone completely. 

In spite of Jungwoo’s begging, Donghyuck pries himself away, nods with a warm smile and glides back to his grave. He casts one sad look back at the town, then sinks into the loamy earth that has mostly blended to match the rest around it. 

Jungwoo lets out a weary sigh. _ “Well, there goes another one.” _

—

_ When there’s nowhere else to run, is there room for one more sun, one more sun _

A melody fills the rows between the headstones, electric guitar bouncing off the mismatched shapes and rumbling over the grass. 

_ Yeah you know you gotta help me out _

_ Oh don’t you put me on the back burner _

Jaehyun lifts his shoulders to the rhythm, one after the other in time with the beat, and mouths along to the lyrics. Some nights it’s too much to work in dark and silence. Some nights he needs a little levity. 

_ “What are you doing?” _Jungwoo appears suddenly like he always does, a crinkle in his ghostly brow. 

“Loosening up,” replies Jaehyun, twisting his shovel into the dirty shallowly. He tilts it toward his lips, the handle suddenly a microphone. 

Jungwoo looks confused, floating in place as the melody really kicks in and Jaehyun dances away from the plot he’s working on, hips cocked left and right to match the drum hits and bringing his microphone shovel with him. 

_ I got soul but I’m not a soldier _

_ I got soul but I’m not a soldier _

Nothing in the graveyard seems to want to interrupt him tonight. The graves are silent, dead like they should be, and Jaehyun dares them to come after him when he’s belting The Killers lyrics and bent deep at the knees dancing. 

“Come on,” he pants, breath lost to his guiltless moves, “don’t you want to dance, Jungwoo?”

The ghost sways, watching how Jaehyun moves his feet along in the grass, and then slowly copies him, his gliding accented by wriggling shoulders and hips. 

_ I got soul but I’m not a soldier _

_ I got soul but I’m not a soldier _

Jaehyun laughs, deep and hearty, and times rhythmic strides back to Jungwoo, mimicking how he might shimmy their shoulders together if Jungwoo possessed a corporeal form. A giddy smile pulls at Jungwoo’s lips and he swirls around the gravedigger, and a ghost grooving to rock ‘n roll in the middle of a graveyard might not be the most conventional thing, but Jaehyun thinks nothing of it. Rocking along to the bass, he closes his eyes and belts the high note. 

_ Yeah you’re gonna bring yourself down _

_ Yeah don’t you put me on the back burner _

Jungwoo’s laughter sounds breathy and weightless, and Jaehyun grins to hear it through the lyrics as they wind down. 

_ While everyone’s lost, _

_ The battle is won _

_ With all these things that I’ve done _

They’re dancing in the moonlight, a ghost and a man, and the night can say nothing when the music holds it back at the edges. 

—

It’s raining buckets. Absolute sheets, drenching the graveyard grounds until there’s nowhere that isn’t slick with mud and ready for one false move to send someone into one of the many deep puddles that collect between the graves.

Jaehyun hates digging in the rain. He still has to do it, though, in tall waterproof boots that make it difficult to maneuver around the grave, and the heavy coat that does not quite enough to keep the cold water off his skin. 

Unfortunately, the rain doesn’t drown everything out.

_ I’m hungry… _

These are the voices Jaehyun hates most. 

A streak of lightning bolts across the sky, and a rumble of thunder follows it.

_ Hey. I’m hungry. _

He grits his teeth, wiping water from his eyes and refusing to look to his left. He knows nothing will be there; these voices don’t come with shapes, thankfully. But he doesn’t want to look and find out he’s wrong.

_ You’re so handsome, gravedigger. So strong...full of life...so full… _

_ I’m so hungry. Can’t I have a bite? _

“No. Leave me alone,” Jaehyun says, breaking his own rule not to respond to the voices. Jungwoo isn’t around at the moment to distract him, isn’t there to go bother the voices back till they leave him alone. It’s only Jaehyun, and his skin crawls with every word. So he falters.

_ You can hear me? Gravedigger...just give me a bite of your heart...just one! _

“You can’t have it.”

The earth seems to tremble under his feet, to tilt and shift. That’s not true, it can’t possibly do that. Nor can he really be feeling a pull to his left, a compulsive urge to wander over near the tall headstone, to scrape at the mucky soil beneath it and bury his arm deep in it, see how deep he can get. There’s no way he can be considering such things.

He’s standing in front of the grave, the tall headstone weeping rain and shadow over him.

_ Just one little bite. Dig down to me, gravedigger. I’ll take it quick. You won’t feel a thing. _

Jaehyun’s eyes scan over the name on the stone, but the marble carved with care has worn terribly with age. The name is indistinguishable, and Jaehyun doesn’t know when this person died. He only knows it was not a grave he dug, but is one that would like to pull him down into itself regardless.

“If I give you a bite, will you stay quiet?” Jaehyun whispers into the storm, his heart beating fast, his hands shaking. His knees feel weak.

_ Yes of course, that and more. Just a little bite. You won’t miss it. _

He won’t miss it. The mud squelches as he begins to kneel. 

_ “What nonsense. Jaehyun, stop listening to this insanity.” _

He looks up and meets Jungwoo’s eyes, rain dripping through them as he hovers beside the headstone now. He’s very serious, holding Jaehyun’s gaze sternly. The sight of him helps to clear the haze in Jaehyun’s mind, bringing him back to cold clarity. 

_ “Come along, Jaehyun. I believe you have a job to do?” _

Jaehyun does. He isn’t finished digging for the night. He hasn’t got time to give a piece of his heart to anyone, dead or alive, no matter how hungry. 

The voice isn’t done speaking to him, but he ignores the calls and walks back to his shovel. Jungwoo follows and hovers beside him as the sky continues to pour. 

—

_ “I would like to know why there are ghosts.” _

Jaehyun raises his head over the edge of the five foot deep hole he’s standing in and quirks an eyebrow at Jungwoo. “What?”

_ “Ghosts. Why? Or I suppose, how do you make a ghost?” _

“You mean, why do ghosts come to be?”

_ “That’s what I said, yes.” _

Leaning back against the cold soil, Jaehyun rests his chin atop his shovel and hums. He’s never thought too much about it, although he did used to wonder what Jungwoo stuck around for. He’s never found an answer, and long since dropped the thought, but it never occurred to him that Jungwoo might not even know. 

“There must be some reason to it,” he replies. 

Jungwoo pouts, his brow furrowed in question as he props his chin in his hands at the edge of the grave. Jaehyun can just see over it far enough to where Jungwoo kicks his transparent legs back and forth like a child lying on their bed, absentminded and playful. 

_ “Why, Yukhei was around a few months at least, before he disappeared and passed on. So what was he about?” _ Jungwoo sighs. _ “What a pain it is not to know these things.” _

“It is unfortunate,” says Jaehyun, aiming his shovel and thinking of the former ghost, Jungwoo’s favorite playmate until his missing person case was solved. 

Perhaps this called for Jaehyun to visit his friend Doyoung. 

—

In a strange way, the scent of the bookshop always reminds Jaehyun of the scent of freshly unearthed soil; he knows they’re different, and yet he fills his lungs the same way between the shelves as he does when working six feet into the ground. 

Doyoung looks surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“I do read the occasional book, Doyoung.”

“Sure, sure you do. Chapter breaks with your headlamp while sitting in a pile of dirt, right?”

Jaehyun grins and props an elbow on the front desk, not at all insulted. “That’s pretty rude, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you just sleep all day?”

“Don’t _ you _ just sleep all night?”

It’s quiet for a moment as Doyoung levels him with his blankest look. “Talking to you is always a joy, Jaehyun.”

“I know.”

“Is there something in particular that you’re looking for?” Doyoung sighs the question and gestures to the shelves of books and related products, clearly done with friendly banter and back to business. 

He’s not aware of a delicate way to ask, so Jaehyun just gathers his confidence into his most comfortable, easy smile, and says, “Yes, I want a book on ghosts.”

Doyoung nods, then pauses. “Ghosts?”

“Yes.”

“Like, ghost stories? A children’s book?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No. A book about ghosts. A serious book, with ghost facts.”

At least a minute passes and the central air comes on, its gentle mechanical whirring in the background while Doyoung continues to frown at Jaehyun. Jaehyun is aware how the request sounds, but he knows what he needs. 

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, like he’s speaking to a very small and clueless child, “there are no ghosts facts. This is because there are no ghosts. Do you want a book on the occult? On myths?”

“Will it have information about ghosts?”

“We can look for one that does.”

Jaehyun is willing to let Doyoung think he’s strange, silly or even childish. It really doesn’t matter. He follows the shop owner to a shelf near the back. Doyoung skims his hand over the rows of books, his sharp eyes searching through the titles while Jaehyun waits patiently. 

It’s a shame that he can’t see Doyoung more often, Jaehyun thinks. Really, it’s a shame he can’t see anyone more often, considering the odd hours of his job. Perhaps, since he’s out already, he’ll go by the bakery as well. 

“It’s been...it’s been a while since you visited, hasn’t it?” Jaehyun asks gently. “I just noticed since there haven’t been fresh flowers there in a while.”

Doyoung doesn’t look up from the shelf, but Jaehyun can see a slight tension appear in his shoulders. 

“It’s been busy, lately.”

“Of course. If you like, I’d be happy to put a couple bouquets out for Jeno and Yangyang myself.”

Doyoung shakes his head and reaches for a book. “No,” he says softly, “I’ll bring some soon. I know what flowers they would each want, it’s my brother and his best friend after all. Here. Might be some ghosts in this one.”

The book Doyoung hands to Jaehyun looks weathered, even though it’s new, and the title _ Supernatural Creatures and Other Mystical Worlds _ doesn’t inspire a ton of confidence in Jaehyun, but it does seem to have a chapter on ghosts and ghouls, so he figures he can make do with it. 

“I’ll take it. Also, do you have anything for retirement planning?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes but leads Jaehyun to the front of the store again, grabbing a thin book off a shelf as he goes. “There,” he says, “just don’t go thinking you can take any of it with you when _ you _ become a ghost.”

At that, they both laugh. 

Doyoung holds the door open for Jaehyun once he’s made his purchase, promising to visit sometime soon during one of Jaehyun’s daytime groundskeeping shifts. Jaehyun only gets a few steps from the building before Doyoung’s expression changes to one of fear and he’s shouting for Jaehyun to watch out; something whizzes over his shoulder, and Jaehyun barely jumps forward in time not to get run over by a speeding bicycle.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!”

The culprit skids to a stop, panting a bit and clutching at his baseball cap in fright as the bike balances against his legs.

“It’s alright,” Jaehyun replies as his heart works to calm down, “I think we’re both fine, Mark.”

He can hardly say the same for his books, tossed to the ground in his haste. Really, they don’t look too bad, but the disapproval on Doyoung’s face says otherwise.

“Be a little more careful, please Mark!” Doyoung scolds, picking up the newspaper that nearly bludgeoned Jaehyun and waving it at the boy.

It’s hardly worth scolding him, thinks Jaehyun. Mark’s already pedaled back and scrambled to pick up Jaehyun’s books, his face the picture of penitence. “I know, I’m sorry...oh, what’s this book?” 

“A book on all the spooky things everyone is afraid of, but no one has any reason to be, because they don’t exist,” clarifies Doyoung.

Jaehyun remains quiet, just smiling and nodding. 

Mark flips through a few pages, then shudders and snaps the book shut, hands it to Jaehyun. “Yikes. That’s creepy stuff. I guess maybe you’re used to it, though?”

“Something like that.” 

Shooed off by Doyoung under the insistence that he needs to get back to work, Jaehyun heads down the street toward the bakery. His mouth waters just at the thought of all the delicious treats that wait inside. Mark pedals slowly alongside him. 

“I thought you had a route to run?”

“You’re going to the bakery, right?” Mark says knowingly, “it’s on my way. Plus, I have to drop something off there.”

Oak Hill is really only big enough for one bakery, but beyond that it’s ubiquitously acknowledged that no one would want another one anyway, not when everything that comes out of the one they have is so exceptional. It’s a sort of reverent moment, once Mark has propped his bike against the wall, as Jaehyun opens the door and they both lean inside, letting the aroma of pastry and sugar hit their senses before anything else. 

“The smell is free, but you better pay if you wanna taste anything,” a voice quips. 

Mark laughs immediately. “Put it on my tab, then, yeah Jaemin?”

Behind the counter, hands occupied with maneuvering an icing piping tube to write on a cake, Jaemin breaks his business expression into a sunny smile. Mark wastes no time trotting up to him as he digs around in his paper satchel for something. He pulls out a package, and Jaemin yelps in excitement, dropping his work and hastily wiping his hands on his apron before reaching for it. 

“It came?!?”

“Yeah! Saw it when I picked up the papers for my route and thought you might be eager to get that.”

Jaehyun watches with amusement as the boy tears open the package and pulls out some videogame Jaehyun doesn’t recognize, but that Mark seems equally interested in. 

“I’m done at four-thirty, wanna come over and play with me?” Jaemin asks Mark. The way they’re gazing at one another, eyes sparkling and wearing giddy smiles, Jaehyun is pretty sure they’ve both forgotten he’s there at all

“He’s in the back, right Jaemin? I’ll just—“

Jaemin nods, focus not deterred from Mark as Jaehyun slides behind the counter. “Yeah yeah, go ahead. So? Later?”

As Jaehyun pushes the two-way door open he can just hear Mark’s enthusiastic agreement. Ah, kids. 

But then there’s the baker, facing away from the door and occupied with something Jaehyun can’t see on his bakers table, the picture of concentration. 

“So, you let your part-timer just stand out there and flirt with all the customers, do you?” 

There’s a metallic clank and a large, puffy cloud of flour in the air suddenly as Taeyong shouts in surprise. He turns, a hand held over his heart, and glares at Jaehyun. 

“Don’t sneak up on me!”

As much as Jaehyun wants to apologize, the sight of Taeyong covered so thoroughly in flour that his purple-dyed hair looks white only leaves it possible for Jaehyun to laugh. 

Taeyong throws a muffin at him. 

“How was I supposed to know you were sifting flour?” he says between chuckles, letting the muffin veritably burst against his shoulder. 

“This is a bakery, why wouldn’t I be?”

Jaehyun shrugs and then adds a wink. “I don’t pretend to know what you do back here.”

Taeyong raises another muffin, and Jaehyun raises his hands in defense. “Mercy! Don’t shoot! I just wanted to say hello, and thank you!”

Looking not unlike a powdered donut, Taeyong spares him and releases his weapon, taking the bowl he’d been sifting into in his hands instead. “Well, hello. I’d say it’s nice of you to drop by, but now I have to start over. Can you bring that flour tin here?”

Jaehyun brings Taeyong that and a number more ingredients, compliant to play Jaemin’s usual role of assistant in apology for ruining the earlier batch of cookies. 

“Thank you for the turnovers, the apricot was extra good,” Jaehyun says as Taeyong measures cinnamon into a spoon. 

“It was? Maybe I’ll start selling those, then. I was just trying it out.”

“Well I loved it.”

Under the dusting of flour he’s done nothing to clean off, Taeyong blushes, light and rosy. “Thanks.”

“What do I owe you for all the deliveries? Taeil has to have brought me ten of them over the past month at least.”

“Nothing, nothing. You’re only getting my experiments anyway,”—Jaehyun knows this isn’t true, he’s familiar enough with Taeyong’s creations to recognize the top sellers among the rest in his bags of treats—“so really you’re doing me a favor. Anyway, I hate to think of you out there in the dark by yourself, all alone doing that work.”

Alone is a relative term for Jaehyun, but he can’t help smiling as he hands Taeyong a bag of butterscotch bits. “It’s nice of you to think of me.”

“Oh my god, stop it. I’ll kick you out of my kitchen.”

Jaehyun is about to protest, but Jaemin pops his head into the room at that moment. “Taeyong, is Mrs. Kim’s cupcake order in that fridge? Whoa...what happened? You look like a ghost!”

Eh, not really, Jaehyun thinks. A little too pink. 

“Who’s a ghost?” Mark pushes inside alone Jaemin, his paper route clearly long forgotten, and bursts out laughing. “Wow, I’m gonna tell Doyoung he’s wrong, ghosts totally are real.”

Blushing worse and stammering, Taeyong tries to wipe at his face. He misses most of the mess and gives up with a huff. 

“Oh be quiet. Yes, Jaemin, I have the cupcakes. I’ll bring them right out.” Taeyong turns to Jaehyun as the boys leave still laughing. “Back to real work. See you around sometime soon?”

Jaehyun nods. “Sure. Oh you missed a bit…” he reaches to the puff of flour on Taeyong’s cheek, and the baker holds still while Jaehyun draws his finger over it. “Much better. I’ll be on my way, then!”

Making his escape with a bag of treats that Jaemin hands him as he goes, Jaehyun grins to hear behind him when Jaemin asks why Taeyong a heart shape on his cheek. 

—

One of the downsides of being a ghost is that it’s difficult to turn book pages. Jungwoo can kind of flutter them, if he wooshes his chilly hand fast enough, but Jaehyun does it for him, the both of them scanning over the scant and mostly suppositional information on the how’s and why’s of ghosthood. 

“Seems to really boil down to some kind of unfinished business,” Jaehyun observes. “Either vengeance, or some other compelling task...or just an inability to let go.”

Jungwoo hovers over the book, frowning. _ “This is very inconsistent. How would you know for sure a ghost will appear?” _

“I guess you can’t.”

For whatever reason, this isn’t the answer Jungwoo wants, and he pouts loudly—or as loudly as a pretty tame ghost can pout. 

Jaehyun shrugs, sitting back on the grass and leaning into his palms behind him. He’s not surprised; those were his guesses anyway, based on the ghosts he’s encountered, Jungwoo being the mysterious exception. 

While Jungwoo continues to frown at the book, Jaehyun surveys the graveyard; there are many headstones, many buried dead that he supposes could have been ghosts but were not, even among those that were his work over the past five years. But only Jungwoo still present. 

A bit of color flutters in the faint light, and Jaehyun’s eye catches on it. Two graves side by side, and a fresh bouquet at each. 

“Ah, Doyoung made it after all,” he muses. The flowers are deep red and what must be a dark purple over Jeno’s grave, and a cluster of bright yellow and orange at Yangyang’s. He didn’t know them very well, but the arrangements seem fitting. 

Jungwoo looks up and follows his gaze, then sighs. _ “Oh yes, he was here. Plenty of flowers and sympathy for _ them. _ A shame they weren’t ghosts.” _

“Well it was an accident, the whole canoeing thing, I’m told,” Jaehyun says, “drowning is no way to go, but there’s not much I can think of for them to feel vengeful over.”

_ “Sure, I suppose. Not like anyone pulled their plugs. It would have been nice to play with my cousin again, though. Jeno was fun when he was little.” _

Jaehyun starts. “Jeno was your cousin?”

_ “Was, yes. Now he just sleeps nice and quiet and peaceful, no one trying to wake him up or force him away.” _The way Jungwoo says it sounds an awful lot like envy, a bitter tone to the words that Jaehyun can’t make sense of. 

“Jungwoo, how did you die?”

The ghost fixes Jaehyun with a blank look, tilting his head as if confused. _ “That’s impolite, Jaehyun,” _he says, and glides away. 

—

Jaehyun has seen all different kinds of death happen in Oak Hill. Some deaths don’t affect much; there’s adequate sorrow, but perhaps it was an expected natural death of age, or something of the like. He’s seen the town get angry over wrongful deaths—Donghyuck, for example—or come together in times of great loss—Jeno and Yangyang—and everything in between. 

The town takes a deep, personal hit when Ten goes, however. 

Jaehyun wishes he had known him better. Unfortunately, as little as he manages to see people around town, it was even harder to see Ten. Holed up for endless hours in his studio, the artist rarely left, took almost no visitors, and was rumored to sleep most of the day and paint all night. That at least, Jaehyun could somewhat confirm. He’d often seen the light bleeding from the windows as he’d walked to the graveyard, and wondered what masterpiece Ten was cooking up. 

And that’s what his works were: masterpieces. The pride of the town, displayed in nearly every shop and home; any new piece put up for sale went nigh instantly. Jaehyun even had a small painting of the cemetery’s front gate in his hallway, a framed gift from Taeil on one birthday. 

Now, watching the ghost of Ten hover beside the old oak tree he so many times painted, his faint hand trying to brush against its bark, Jaehyun wonders if he’ll end up getting to know Ten more after his death than before it. 

Ten turns as Jaehyun approaches, his eyes widening—they’re tearful, a sparkling sort of glassy that only a weeping ghost could manage. 

“Are you surprised to be here?” Jaehyun asks, once Ten relaxes a little.

_ “No, I know why I’m here. But I didn’t expect...you can see me?” _

Jaehyun lifts his shoulders, his smile close-lipped. He doesn’t have any more answer to why that is than Ten does.

The artist’s face turns contemplative. _ “Perhaps by the nature of your work? When you’re this close to the dead…” _

“Could be.”

Without needing to look, Jaehyun knows that Jungwoo is hovering somewhere nearby. Nothing pulls his attention like a new ghost, but it seems that something about Ten has him keeping his distance for the time being. 

“You said you know why you’re here.”

Ten’s eyes cast downward, then lift only enough to gaze at the sleeping town where not a single light is lit this late into the night, the moonlight only draping over the houses like a deep blue paint and leaving pieces in shadow. 

_ “I think I do. There was something...I had something I wanted...but I was too afraid to do it. And now it’s too late.” _

Jaehyun dares to step closer, to hold a hand out even though he knows Ten can’t take it. He believes it’s the gesture that counts for something anyway. “Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe there’s something I can do?”

Moving from Jaehyun’s outstretched hand to his face, Ten’s crystalline eyes search him before he speaks again, his voice like a cool whisper. _ “Would you help me write a letter?” _

—

It’s difficult to say where the mood is worse—the town or the cemetery. The typically chipper diner where Jaehyun occasionally grabs lunch instead has all the cheery brightness of a prison cell, it’s normal colors and aura muted by the quiet, all-consuming power of loss. 

Jaehyun notices how Kunhang glances at the painting near the door—one of Ten’s—every time he walks past it, often taking a deep breath before continuing on. The diner doesn’t suffer from a barrage of customers, but he still keeps forgetting small things: a set of silverware, a coffee refill. It’s apparent that he was a close friend of Ten, even without words. 

“Oh man, you wanted cheese on that, didn’t you,” Kunhang says, crestfallen, as he sets down Jaehyun’s sandwich. 

The gravedigger puts a hand on the waiter’s arm. “It’s really fine, don’t stress about it.”

“You sure?”

“Kunhang, it’s cheese. I’m all good.”

The young waiter nods, his smile hesitant but grateful, and he moves on to the to-go order Dejun—Kun’s assistant—has been waiting for up at the bar counter for a little while now. Like Kunhang, he seems stressed, but slightly differently. He keeps checking his phone. 

Kunhang brings out a few takeaway boxes. “The fries are almost finished, just a couple more minutes.”

“Great. I definitely need those, Kun is actually at the point of eating carbs. Kun. _ Carbs.” _

“Yeah, I’ve tried to talk to him but…”

They both trail off, going quiet. 

“Anyway, we’re going to close a little early this afternoon, so let me know if you want anything else before the kitchen shuts down. I promised to help go through everything in Ten’s studio...no idea how long that will take.”

Dejun lets out a slow breath through his teeth, studying his fingernails. He looks up. “Okay. If you need—“

“No, you’ll be needed at the funeral home, I think.”

Jaehyun can feel the unsaid words in their conversation; that being in that studio will be hard beyond telling. And yet—

“Did you need more coffee, Jaehyun?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind. Also...would you like help today?”

“Help?”

“With...going through the studio. I’m fairly useful at manual labor.”

Kunhang stares blankly at him, and Dejun turns in his seat, clearly surprised. 

“That would be really great, actually. Sicheng was going to help but he had a last minute thing come up and honestly I don’t know if Doyoung and I can handle it all, I mean Chenle and Jisung offered but I just don’t know if that’s a good idea—“

Jaehyun cuts off Kunhang’s sudden ramble with a pat on his shoulder. “I’ll come help. Take a deep breath.”

He does, and looks just slightly more relaxed afterward. 

Just like that, Jaehyun finds himself outside the home of the artist only a few hours later.

Going into Ten’s studio feels unnatural; the late afternoon sun that washes through the big windows drapes everything in pools of thin, golden light, revealing the layer of settled dust and highlighting the empty quiet that can’t quite be remedied despite all the objects still in that space. Coming along with Kunhang to help, Doyoung gasps when they walk inside: there are half-finished pieces on every available surface, stacked in the corners and resting on easels of various sizes. It seems that the town only witnessed perhaps half of the work Ten produced, the rest cautiously kept to himself.

It occurs to Jaehyun that he might be the only one who knows why, at the moment. The only one to know the standard of excellence Ten held himself to, to know how much he made only to deem it unworthy of public vision. 

Jaehyun waits while the other two adjust, and then joins in as they slowly begin to take inventory of things and clean up what can’t be kept. There’s an absolute somber quality to the process; it can’t be done quickly, and it can’t be done without an emotional toll. Jaehyun watches them, because he imagines this is more familiar territory to him than to them; Kunhang moves throughout the studio with a stiffness, the occasional tear sliding down his cheek, while Doyoung works with a robotic efficiency that speaks of an impressive force of will. 

When they’ve done what’s easy, they turn to the myriad of paintings littering the place, and Kunhang sucks in a heavy breath. 

“This is too hard…” he admits. His hands shake a little.

Doyoung steps up beside him and puts a steadying hand on his elbow. “I know, you’re doing great. This kind of thing is never easy—no one should have to go through it,” he says, trying to encourage. “Going through the pieces of someone’s life is a terrible burden. Even for me, having done this twice before, it’s not any easier, I mean it was a little different going through this for—...well, it’s just still difficult.” 

Jaehyun glances at Doyoung. Twice? He had he done this two times before? He couldn’t think of another instance aside from Jeno when the bookseller would have had such an obligation. Did he help Donghyuck’s family? 

“Shall we start with the—“

Cutting in, Jaehyun says, “Why don’t you two look through what’s here in the livingroom, and I’ll bring everything out from the bedroom?”

“Oh...that would work,” Doyoung agrees, looking almost relieved. 

The signs that Ten was sick fill the subtle cracks of the studio, quietly there for Jaehyun to notice as he makes his way back to the personal rooms. They are in the excess piles of blankets kept all around, in the doctors’ appointments red-penned on the calendar in the hallway, in the prescription bottles lined up on the counter in the bathroom. It makes sense, now, why he was such a recluse. 

In the bedroom, Jaehyun finds fairly quickly what he had been told to expect. By the window, a single easel of medium size with a canvas perched on it and draped over with a clean sheet. Jaehyun only looks under it for a moment, just to be absolutely sure, and takes a deep breath once he’s confirmed. 

“What is that?” Kunhang asks when Jaehyun carries the easel out with him from the room, a few other small canvases tucked under his other arm. 

Jaehyun presses his lips together firmly as he sets it down, fixes Kunhang with what he hopes is a supportive look. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s important.”

He lets Doyoung step forward and gingerly lift the sheet, pulling it aside until the canvas underneath sits visible in the golden light. 

“Oh,” Doyoung breathes, eyes wide. Kunhang folds at the knees, sitting stunned. 

The portrait is no more and no less than flawless, and there is no one who could look at it and say honestly that it was painted with anything other than deep, deep love. It’s utterly present in the clarity of the eyes that glance somewhere out of frame, warm brown, and the gentle yet firm curve of the jaw. But to be absolutely clear, there is an enveloped letter sitting on the shelf of the easel, addressed to the person whose visage it depicts.

It takes a few more hours to clean out the rest, once Kunhang and Doyoung have composed themselves. When they leave, everything for the most part remains inside in organized piles to be dealt with later. There is, of course, one notable exception.

Kunhang takes the portrait of Kun with him, wrapped carefully with the letter, and heads straight for the funeral home. 

—

Jaehyun accepts the thanks Kun addresses to him, insisting it was no trouble for him to help with Ten’s studio. Then he leaves a solid, respectful distance as Kun climbs the hill to where Ten’s grave lies, the chill wind pulling at Kun’s jacket in the last sun-setting hours of the day as he goes. 

After a little while, when the evening has begun to take over and only the sun’s crepuscular rays remain, Jaehyun pauses his groundskeeping and looks their way. 

Kun kneels just a little ways back from the headstone, his head drooped. It’s hard to see what he’s doing, but Jaehyun could guess if he wanted. He doesn’t, instead just watching silently as Ten, slow and spectral, leans down from his seat on the headstone and runs phantom fingers through Kun’s hair, moving nothing but meaning everything. Almost as if he might feel it, Kun looks up: Ten’s fingers drift down under his chin, the ghost gazing into tear-swollen eyes full of longing that cannot see him. 

_ “I think Ten is going to leave soon.” _

Jaehyun can’t disagree. “I think so, too.”

And so will Kun, once he’s mourned long enough, though he may occasionally return. But Jaehyun feels a sense of peace on their behalf, knowing Ten will have passed on without leaving his most treasured message unsent. 

_ “He was a pretty boring ghost anyway. Just stared at the town all the time.” _Jungwoo sighs, swaying next to Jaehyun and watching the touching scene with his usual disinterest. He seems, at least, less disappointed than he normally is when another ghost is about to pass on. 

“Not enough fun for you?”

Jungwoo tosses Jaehyun a teasing grin. _ “How could he be? Only you’re enough fun for me, Jaehyun.” _

—

In a town that doesn’t change much, the differences are always in the small details. Jaehyun makes an effort to pay careful attention for them, especially since he isn’t always around the regular day-to-day crowd to catch their appearance. Small changes like Jaemin perched on the back of Mark’s bike as he flies through town tossing papers onto doorsteps, like the memorial plaque on the bridge that covers the gap of the ravine on the way out of town, like the free slice of pie Kunhang now brings Jaehyun every time he stops by the diner for lunch even though he never orders it. 

Jaehyun’s savoring the gooey tang of lemon meringue when Jisung and Chenle burst into the building, buzzing with chatter and giggles as they take seats at the counter and order milkshakes. 

“Energetic, those two,” Jaehyun comments affectionately. 

Taeyong smiles where he sits in the booth across from the gravedigger, his eyes warm. He says, “Could be all the sugar they get from constantly buying all my tea cakes.”

And he must think Jaehyun isn’t looking, as he tries to sneak a fork over and pilfer a bite of pie, but Jaehyun is faster and smacks the back of his hand first. 

“Ah-ah. Excuse me, sir, but this pie is mine. You’ll have to order your own.”

Taeyong pouts. “But I made it!”

“And? Kunhang gave this slice to me. He didn’t say, ‘unless the baker comes in and decides to take it back,’ now did he?”

Crossing his arms over his multi-colored-icing-stained pastry coat, Taeyong frowns. “Shouldn’t it be like royalties? I think I’m entitled to a little bite of all of my creations.”

Jaehyun blinks, then grimaces at the pie. “Do you lick everything you make before you send it out? Taeyong.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. 

“What! No of course not!” Taeyong yelps, horrified. “Who would do that!? Besides the health code violation, and, listen, not to mention—“

Jaehyun is listening to Taeyong’s diatribe, truly, but his ears also can’t help but pick up on the chatter between the two school boys with their milkshakes as well. So he’s a little nosy; Jaehyun will admit that. He has to stay clued-in to the town _ somehow. _

“But you’ve seen it right? How his eyes look kind of glazed over? Creepy,” Chenle says, following the observation with an audible shudder. 

Jisung agrees readily. _ “So _creepy! And nobody has any idea who he is! What’s he even doing here?”

“Right! No one knows!”

“I think he’s a..._ vagabond.” _Jisung says it like it’s a curse and he isn’t sure he should say it out loud. 

“Jisung, I don’t think that’s a real word.”

“It is! That’s what my mom said!”

Now, that is something interesting. Jaehyun has not noticed a new person in town, but that’s to be expected. If even the teenagers are gossiping about this person, though, it’s definitely a point of interest he wants to know about. 

Taeyong is still delineating the rigorous sanitation lengths he goes to when the conversation inevitably spills over to their table, a side effect of everyone knowing everyone and no information staying between only two people for too terribly long. 

“Has he come into the bakery at all, Mr. Lee?” Jisung asks, his chair swiveled so he can present his question to Taeyong directly. 

“Who?"

“The stranger in town, the one that has been wandering around lately.”

“Oh, that man? No, but he’s walked past a few times. I don’t think he’s anything to worry about but,” Taeyong sighs and rolls his eyes, “Jaemin has started to think he’s casing the shop. He keeps locking the door during business hours.”

Chenle slaps a hand down on the counter. “Good! You can’t let him steal any of the donuts!”

“The donuts will be _ fine, _Chenle.”

“Someone moved into town?” Jaehyun asks Taeyong, bringing the question outright. 

“It seems that way, although he seems to wander around somewhat aimlessly. I keep thinking he looks a little familiar but I don’t know wh—“

A cool gush of breeze sweeps into the diner along with a smattering of fallen leaves as the door flies open. Doyoung sweeps inside like the breeze is carrying him with it, and zeroes in on their table; in a moment, he’s dropped beside Taeyong, forcing the baker into the corner of the booth, and given each of them a challenging, pointed look. 

“So,” he states, “was no one going to tell me that Doctor Ji came back to town? I just had to see him wander into my bookshop and learn that for myself?!”

Taeyong gapes, eyes planet-sized in surprise and confusion. “That’s _ him?!” _

“Who?” Jaehyun takes the initiative to ask.

“Oh, what am I saying. Of course _ you _ wouldn’t know, it has been almost ten years after all. Hell,” Doyoung gestures to Jisung and Chenle, who are trying hard not to look as though they’re eavesdropping—in Oak Hill, this is simply referred to as conversing passively—even though they are, “these two were just little kids. You know who Doctor Ji is, Chenle?”

The boy shakes his head, stuttering, “No, I moved here seven years ago.”

“Exactly.”

Nothing clarified at all, Jaehyun pulls his pie plate out of reach of Taeyong’s sneaking hands and pushes Doyoung for more. “So? Who is he?”

“He was a doctor in town years ago,” interrupts Taeyong before Doyoung can speak, his fork tapping emptily against the table, “then one day it seemed like he kinda lost it, and just up and left. Gone.”

“No one knew why?”

“Well, after—” Taeyong starts, and Doyoung shoots him a cryptic look, “—um...well, theory is that he just cracked from the pressure of working at the private clinic here. One rough case too many.”

Jaehyun ponders this, sliding his plate aside and leaning heavy on his elbows. “From the private clinic? That’s odd, don’t they normally just handle checkups and colds?”

“Usually, yes, but when the whole town suddenly blames you for—“ he pauses, eyeing the way Doyoung stares hard at the pattern in the tablecloth and works his jaw silently. Taeyong clears his throat. “—anyway, it wasn’t good back then, from what I, uh, I remember. I was pretty young, though, so I can’t recall very clearly. Doyoung, I need to get back to my bakery...would you mind?”

There’s a bit of shuffling before Taeyong can slide out of the booth and speed-walk for the door, Jaehyun turning in his seat and gaping wordlessly as the baker practically runs from building. He’s never seen Taeyong act so shifty before, nor can he reason what set him off. Even Chenle and Jisung seem startled; the straw in Jisung’s milkshake pauses against his lip as he stares open-mouthed.

When Jaehyun turns back, it’s to see Doyoung with lips pursed as he chews, a second bite of lemon meringue pie hovering in wait before his mouth. He levels a look at Jaehyun that reads distinctly as: _ I’m done talking about this. _

Jaehyun sighs and calls for Kunhang to bring his check. 

—

When the family of the deceased don’t have a specific designated plot chosen, or when the deceased don’t have family or anyone to care about that for them, Jaehyun gets the task of identifying a place in the graveyard for their eternal rest...or unrest, as it may be. Sometimes he tries to find a spot with a nice view, or good shade, or even neighbors he thinks will all get along well. Other times he’s too busy or tired to try, and just finds the next open space with soft soil. 

He hasn’t dug near Jungwoo in a while. Not for any discriminatory reason against the ghost; no, mainly because of his proximity to the old oak and it’s tendency to wrap its extensive roots around the graves like spider veins. A few of the headstones quite close to it submitted to it’s reaching arms long ago, their stone etchings half hidden beneath an embrace of bark covered tendrils. 

There are just a couple of spots in its radius, though, that can still be dug. Jaehyun chooses one of those, knowing it will take two whole nights to dig it clear, and gets to work. 

He isn’t at all surprised when Jungwoo appears quickly, gliding slow circles between his neighbors and vaguely disrupting the light mist present on the grounds this evening. 

He’d wanted to talk to him anyway. 

“Everyone is talking about the strange man in town,” Jaehyun says, after they’ve been silent for a while. 

_ “Bunch of gossips.” _

Jaehyun chuckles; as if Jungwoo doesn’t do his fair share. 

“He’s causing quite a stir.”

Jungwoo floats to the ground on the other side of the plot from Jaehyun, watching with apparent disinterest as he hacks at a few creeping roots. _ “Oh? I suppose he would. He did seem a little...unstable.” _

With a grunt, Jaehyun chops through a tough root and then straightens, brow furrowed. “You saw him?”

_ “He wandered up this way earlier. Passed by a few graves.” _ The ghost smiles sweetly. _ “Interesting man. Very talkative.” _

“To you? Or just in general?”

_ “Who is this grave for?” _Ignoring Jaehyun’s question, Jungwoo pokes at the dirt, or rather through it, and looks up at Jaehyun with wide innocent eyes. 

Some days, Jungwoo just doesn’t play along with normal conversation. But then, he’s not particularly normal. The gravedigger once again itches to know just a little more of the ghost’s story...maybe if Sicheng isn’t busy in the morning, he can wheedle his way to another look in the logbooks. Maybe if he brings pastries. 

Jaehyun leans on his shovel and recalls what Sicheng had told him over the phone when the request for a new grave had come in. Something about the body of a previous Oak Hill resident who died elsewhere, being brought to be buried in their hometown.

“Won’t arrive until two days from now, though,” Jaehyun tells Jungwoo, as he gives the plot another once over, mentally measuring the dimensions again. He could probably dig one while sleeping-walking, but he does like to be certain and mindful with his work. This is going to be someone’s home for the rest of whatever time the world continues to exist, or at least until decomposition works its inevitable organic magic. He’s always felt it a very solemn duty, to be sure it’s done right, whether he knows who will be buried there or not. 

Jungwoo, of course, only ever expresses interest in who will be inside it. The ghost watches a worm wiggling along, his spectral eyes following it’s path while his face shows no emotion at all. _ “Two days… two days…” _ he sing-songs, _ “hardly any time at all…” _

“Who knows, maybe you’ll end up with a friend soon.” 

The suggestion brings another smile to Jungwoo’s face. _ “Soon.” _

—

_ Out. _

The sign taped to the door of the mortuary only puzzles Jaehyun momentarily, until he recalls Sicheng mentioning he actually had agreed to travel to escort the corpse back to Oak Hill personally. 

So much for sneaking a look at the burial preparation log again. 

It’s for the best, probably. He’d been working till the early hours, and would be back at the same plot just after sundown again later that day, so he should probably get more sleep anyway. Jaehyun supposes all this as he takes the brown paper bag from Taeyong’s and walks to the small park a few blocks away. There he finds a bench in the morning sun, a refreshing spot to eat the bear claw Sicheng will just have to miss out on, and takes a seat—only to pause with the bag half open. 

The man sitting opposite him, across the park on a similar bench, meets Jaehyun’s gaze with large round eyes. So large, they verge on crazed, and it’s not easy to unsettle Jaehyun—he would have found another vocation long ago if it were—but there’s something unhinged in that stare that has his skin crawling. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him, to guess who this is. 

“Good morning, Doctor,” Jaehyun says, his tone neutral, polite.

The man twitches, his hands unsteady hanging between his knees, his shoulders sitting heavy.

“You dig the graves.”

“I do.” 

“But how do you know they’re dead?”

Jaehyun feels the late Autumn chill straight through his thick jacket. “Of course they are.”

“You’re certain?”

A bicycle rolls to a stop at the far corner of the park; Jaehyun can see Mark in the corner of his eye, the paperboy looking their way and hesitating. As much as Jaehyun doesn’t want to be having this conversation, even more he doesn’t want Mark to get drawn into it. It’s as if this doctor knows what Jaehyun has been carefully keeping to himself for years—that death comes in different shapes and sizes in Oak Hill, and sometimes it sticks better than others. This, Mark does not need to know. 

He waves a hand, shooing Mark away as best he can. 

“I dig graves for corpses, sir, not living people,” Jaehyun says. He keeps his gaze steady even as he gets to his feet. “I leave caring for the living up to men like yourself.” 

Something in the liminal space between a smile and a grimace takes over the man’s face, uncomfortable and uncanny. He laughs, high, light, and edging on hysterical. “That,” he says, “is the funniest thing I’ve heard in awhile! You must not really be from around here!”

The last few fallen leaves crunch under Jaehyun’s feet as he turns from the park and the disconcerting, agitated man sitting in it. 

“Have a nice day, sir,” Jaehyun offers.

“Be careful how you step, gravedigger! Not everything stays buried here that should!”

It’s only once Jaehyun’s walked all the way home and locked himself inside his little house that he realizes he left the pastry sitting on the bench.

—

The gentle mist from the night previous takes on a new strength with the rise of the moon, settling into the kind of thick, heavy fog that hides gravestones and gives new power to shadows such that every turn seems to have a tenebrous figure behind it.

Jaehyun has never disliked his profession, but he has absolutely no love for foggy nights.

The ground feels extra hard, even less giving than the night before. He has to fight for every inch of loosened dirt—the old oak’s roots are clawing hands that snag the head of his shovel, challenging him for it, making his back ache for the struggle, and he’s hardly surprised to find the soil become rocky, the shovel jolting his arms each time it collides with an unexpected stone. At his side, the pile of removed dirt starts to jut out at random angles as it fills with the heavy rocks he strains to lift out.

If only he’d slept; he’d feel stronger and perhaps his nerves wouldn’t be so on edge. But he hadn’t been able to, too disturbed to find sleep even with his blackout curtains and ambient noisemaker. 

He digs, his chest tight, and his skin tingles constantly as the fog spills into the hole in front of him like it has a mind of its own. For all he knows, it does. Everything in this graveyard seems to have a life beyond the living.

Jaehyun wonders where his favorite ghost is tonight.

—

Through the thick fog, a figure moves easily, practically invisible against the persisting grey. If anything, only a bluish tint distinguishes the figure from its surroundings as it weaves among the graves, grazing fingers over the headstones like greeting friends. It moves utterly silently, drawing patiently ever closer to where the sound of a shovel striking stubborn soil struggles to pierce the heavy air.

The gravedigger pauses to wipe the sweat from his handsome brow with one gloved, dirty hand, holding his head back and high. 

The figure draws closer, right up behind the man, close enough to touch. 

In and out, a few arduous breaths puff against the cold night air from the man’s lips, his shoulders heaving with each one.

Hands lift behind him, hovering, only the hint of hesitation, before they pulse forward in a determined shove.

The gravedigger lets out a startled sound, loses grip of his shovel, and sways. A swirl of fog circles around gently as the gravedigger’s balance leaves him and he falls, landing in the comfort of a grave he dug himself. 

It’s a bad fall. Deep down in the chilly trench, the man lets out a pained moan at the stones digging into his back. A shadow moves above him and his eyes search for it with dazed slowness—the shadow moves away, and then back, hovering over the opening, holding something. In the moment before the shadow lets go the object, just a breath before the firm stone knocks into his skull, the gravedigger utters a weak word: 

“J-Jungwoo?”

—

_ “It will be so easy…” _

The man shivers as the words crawl across his skin, cold whispers on a night dark as death. 

_ “Look, he’s already dug the grave, all you need to do is fill it up.” _

A step forward, then a stumble back. “Th-there’s a body in there.”

_ “Of course, that’s what graves are for.” _

“Is this...is this what you wanted me to come back here for? I’m not a killer. Please, you have to know!” Whipped up inside the rising wind, his voice sounds frenzied, frantic.

Dark, opaque blue eyes narrow in judgement. _ “Aren’t you?” _

“I told them! I tried! I-I told them you could still wake up! No one _ believed _ me, no one wanted to wait! Please, it wasn’t my decision!”

_ “I know. You’re just the doctor.” _ Wraithlike, the figure turns to the sleeping town hiding just below the fog, it’s gaze cold and decisive. _ “They’re all responsible in this forsaken place.” _

“Then you don’t need me!”

_ “Oh, Hansol. My dear, dear Doctor Ji. Someone has to make amends to me, and here you are. So you’ll give me what I want.” _

Standing beside the grave, the doctor looks down again and shudders. “Why him? What has he done?” A broken laugh burbles out from his trembling lips. “Besides being a fool.”

The voice does not relent, only grows closer and colder. _ “It’s good money, you know, digging graves. Hard work gets well rewarded. He’s been saving, keeping it all in that little house...you could take it, and no one would know. Take the job, too. Just cover him up...” _

“I don’t need—”

_ “Don’t lie. Go on, do it. Look, he’s dug his own grave. No one will ever know. It’ll only take a night, then you can have everything you need _ — _ he won’t miss it.” _

The man picks up the shovel and weighs it in his hands; it’s long handle is heavy and worn, and dents pockmark the head. His arms shake as he sinks it into the rocky pile of earth and pries out a small mound, the sounds of his effort nearly lost in the lonely howling wind. 

_ “Yes, you’ve got it. Fill it neatly. It’s all yours, then.” _

The doctor hesitates. “I’ll be absolved, then? From all this...I’ll be free?”

_ “Yes, yes, all of that!” _

The cold voice quakes with vehemence, with jealous anticipation, and equally cold fingers seem to push at the man’s hands, from behind him where a frozen presence presses at his back. The doctor startles, scared, and backs away from the grave a step.

“He...he might not be dead…maybe they’d forgive me, if I saved him...”

The pressure increases and the voice urges at his ear. _ “Oh, no, there’s no hope for him. Bury him, hurry, before the night watch comes! Or do you want to be caught with a body? What will you be to them then...murderer?” _

His hands shake worse as he digs the shovel back into the soil. It’s not as easy as it looks, lifting the rich dirt, holding it over the open grave, over the body inside. 

_ “Do it. Bury him! Give him to me now!” _

The doctor tips the shovel and lets its contents fall. 

_ “One scoop at a time, cover him up, pack it nice and firm!” _

Sing-song and gay, the cold, cold voice breathes in his ear, and the man has no choice. He’s either a murderer, or a gravedigger, now. 

Thump. Thump. Each shovel of dirt seems to echo as it lands. “One at a time, One at a time,” the man sings along to the voice, distracting himself as he fills up the grave. Only he, the voice, and the wind know what’s at the bottom. 

-

It’s dark when Jaehyun wakes up. Nothing about that surprises him—he works at night usually anyway. 

_ “All rested? How do you feel?” _

Hearing Jungwoo’s voice is a bit of a surprise—as is waking up in the graveyard. Jaehyun glances around, and finds the ghost sitting on a headstone like he’s wont to, perched and wearing a sunny smile that glows on his transparent lips under the moonlight. 

Jaehyun doesn’t take a breath. He feels no need to. He feels...very little. 

_ “I don’t...feel anything…” _

Jungwoo laughs. _ “I know. Me neither. Ghosts can’t feel.” _

_ “Ghosts can’t feel…” _ Jaehyun looks down, and sees the ground through his feet. When he holds his hand up before his face, the branches of the old oak appear clearly right through that too. _ “I’m dead?” _

_ “Oh darling, it was so sad. You took quite a tumble. Just the most tragic accident. But you’re a ghost just like me now!” _

Looking at Jungwoo, Jaehyun thinks he should feel angry, sad...something...he doesn’t. _ “I became a ghost…” _

The more senior ghost sighs and bites his lip, smile not budging. _ “I do wonder why! Isn’t it a mystery!” _ He giggles. _ “What’s keeping you here, sweet Jaehyun?” _

_ “Well, I…” _ He starts, but he doesn’t know. _ “I suppose, perhaps...well, perhaps I wasn’t finished keeping you company?” _

There’s nothing around the graveyard that gives him another answer, though he looks. There’s only the gravestones, many ones he put there himself—and Jungwoo’s of course, which he didn’t—the gnarled old oak tree, and a fresh mound of hastily packed dirt that Jaehyun assumes must be his own grave. It’s too bad. He would have done a much better job. 

Jungwoo rocks back and forth giddily on his headstone, a pleased sound slipping into the wind from his lips. _ “Why, yes, that must be it.” _The ghost glides forward, pale, wavering fingers lifting to caress Jaehyun’s cheek. That, he can almost feel. 

_ “Yes, of course. It’s perfectly alright now. You can stay with me forever.” _

Jaehyun looks through Jungwoo, back at the plot of earth, and puzzles. He doesn’t have a headstone. Is it still being engraved? He hopes so. It’s shoddy work. 

_ “Jaehyun? Don’t you want to stay and be my friend?” _

_ “I’m sorry, yes,” _ he apologizes, meeting Jungwoo’s glowing eyes, seeing a sharpness soften out of them. _ “I suppose I can’t think of what else I would do...now that I’m...” _ Truly, he can’t recall what he was doing, before waking up dead. It’s as if it all got knocked right out of his mind—how did he get there?

The smile returns to Jungwoo’s face. _ “Nothing else. You can’t leave, I should know.” _

_ “I suppose you would.” _ It’s strange, to be this light and insubstantial, and to think he won’t dig another grave now. When he turns toward the town, he feels only how he always imagined the wind might as it fluttered through the woods: emotionless and ephemeral. 

There’s a few lights on in the homes; the bakery is still bright. _ “I think I’ll miss it,” _ Jaehyun mumbles to himself. 

But of course, Jungwoo hears. He glides beside Jaehyun and places a hand on his arm, drops his chin on Jaehyun’s opposite shoulder. _ “Why? You have me.” _

“Yes. But I liked my life.”

_ “Oh, you’ll make me sad, Jaehyun. You’ll make me jealous,” _ breathes Jungwoo, his tone edging on something cold. He pulls away from Jaehyun, gliding sorrowfully, and Jaehyun frowns but follows. It’s odd, being dead suddenly, but he does only have Jungwoo now. It wouldn’t be alright to make him sad. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaehyun reaches for him. “You’re right, one friend is enough.”

Jungwoo brightens instantly. He lets Jaehyun take his ghostly hand, and bites his lip again. It’s easy, lighter than air, to pull the other ghost into a substanceless embrace. They’re immaterial, phantoms under the moon, inhabitants of a place between life and death just as intangible as its occupants. The boneyard binds them and the afterlife eludes. 

_ “Oh, Jaehyun. Thank you. Only you could ever entertain me enough! Now we can have fun together, for the rest of time." _

Yes, he supposes. He’s just another soul buried under the old oak tree, now. 

**Author's Note:**

> ooooooooooohhhh he got 'im. bad ghostie. 
> 
> points to anyone w theories on just how jungwoo died n why he'd become a ghost! 
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ImJaeBabie)   
or twt @imjaebabie


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